Translations
by ancazur
Summary: Haru's English skills - and his grade in the class - leave something to be desired, but he conveniently knows someone who spent some time in an English-speaking country. [This is embarrassingly fluffy.]


English was a stupid language. Haru pushed his homework aside and groaned, stretching his arms over his head. It still didn't make any sense.

He _could_ call Makoto, but his English was equally bad. The assignment fluttered to the floor as he banged his forehead on the table. There _was_ one other option, and if he wanted to pass this class he had no other choice. Reluctantly, he grabbed his cell phone to dial the now-familiar number.

He picked up on the second ring. "Yo."

Haru sighed. "Hey, Rin."

"Hey. What's up?" When he didn't answer, he added, "You okay?"

"I . . . I need your help."

Because it wasn't embarrassing enough that he resorted to calling, Rin had _laughed_ before agreeing. And despite Haru's protests, he was coming in person. It was probably easier to taunt him that way.

But it was a small sacrifice—his English grade couldn't support another failed translation attempt.

Haru looked around, wondering if he should do anything before he came over. When was the last time Rin had even been there? He pulled at his tie, suddenly suffocated by his uniform. He wished he'd changed out of it earlier, but the best he could manage was pulling off the tie before he heard a pounding at the door.

It should've taken him longer to arrive. When he opened the door Rin was leaned against the doorframe, sporting his own uniform and a schoolbag slung over his shoulder. "Hey."

"How did you get here so fast . . . ?"

But Rin had already pushed past him and strode toward the main room, comfortably, like the years had never passed. He dropped his schoolbag with a _thud _and looked around. "Hasn't changed much," he said, sitting cross-legged at the table. "Let's see what you've got here."

As Haru sat and rummaged through his homework, he waited for the knowing smirk or inevitable jeering. But Rin only fished through his schoolbag, retrieving a well-used Japanese/English dictionary. "Here," he said, sliding it across the table. Haru didn't want to mention that he already _had_ a dictionary, but this one looked infinitely better than the one Iwatobi had provided.

As Haru opened the book, staring curiously at a random page, Rin skimmed the translation assignment. He snickered. "This is meant to trip you up. How much do you understand?"

Haru leaned over the dictionary, trying to read the nonsense letters sideways. Rin rotated the page for him. "A little. But it doesn't make sense. The grammar is all . . . weird."

Rin ripped a page from Haru's notebook—without asking, Haru noted—and scribbled down what he recognized as basic grammar rules. His handwriting hadn't improved much since he was twelve years old, which made it more difficult to understand, but Rin explained each rule as he wrote it out—sentence order, verb tenses, adjective placement . . .

"Why are you doing this?"

Rin glared at him through the hair that had fallen over his eyes, and Haru immediately regretted asking. At least, he wished he'd waited until _after_ finishing the assignment, but at least Rin wasn't storming off and leaving him to fend for himself. "You asked for my help, didn't you?"

"Yeah . . ."

"So, here." He pushed the homework toward him. "Translate the first paragraph."

English was difficult enough without Rin staring as he worked. But he remained silent—Haru translated what he knew, and looked up what he didn't. It wasn't too bad with Rin's cheat sheet, though he didn't have a chance to read the paragraph over before Rin yanked the page out from under his pencil.

"Close," he said. "This"—he pointed to a word mid-sentence—"should be 'there.'"

Haru stared at it blankly. "That's what it says."

"No. Look." He snatched Haru's pencil to write the correct word, slowly and legibly, in the margin. "You have 'their.'"

"What the hell? They're exactly the same."

The cheat sheet expanded as Haru worked through the translation, the page littered with eraser marks and Rin's notes. On several occasions, Haru nearly snapped the pencil in half when learning yet another group of words that sounded exactly the same and meant completely different things.

"How did you understand all this in Australia?"

Rin fell silent. Though they were on moderately decent speaking terms, they had never discussed his time away—it wasn't information he readily shared.

Haru inwardly cursed himself for asking. "Never mind." He leaned over his work again.

"No, it's . . ." Rin shrugged. "You get used to it. When no one is speaking your native language, you don't have a choice."

Rin had always been better at English than the rest of them; even as kids he had a good grasp of it. But Haru suddenly understood what living in a foreign country meant: leaving everything behind. Leaving your family and friends. Leaving your culture. He lifted his eyes to Rin, who stared impassively out the window.

"I'm never leaving Japan," Haru muttered, trying to break the tension.

Rin smirked. "You're never leaving _high school_ with this shitty translation." He reached over to squeeze Haru's shoulder, his hand lingering in the folds of the fabric. The foreign words in front of Haru all blended together, making even less sense, as a surge of warmth spread from his shoulder and up into his face.

"Aren't you hot in that jacket?" Haru said, refusing to look up. The hand on his shoulder disappeared, and his peripheral vision confirmed that Rin was tossing his jacket aside, leaving him in only a black muscle shirt. Haru pulled at his collar, unfastening the button around his throat.

"If you _do_ leave Japan," Rin was saying, "at least you have an official translator."

"What are you talking about?"

Rin slipped into English. "Me, you idiot."

"Nice try. I could translate _that_."

"How about this, then?" Rin ripped another piece of paper from Haru's notebook, then plucked the pencil from his hand. He twirled the pencil a moment before scribbling a phrase across the page, sideways, ignoring the predetermined lines.

"I'm not doing extra work," Haru said, as Rin thrust the page in front of him.

"You won't learn this kind of stuff in school," he said, leaning back on his hands. "C'mon."

It would be easy to protest—Haru had had his fair share of translations—but he couldn't deny his curiosity. There weren't many words; he understood some of them, but was wary about filling in the blanks.

He twisted his hands in his lap. "You want to do _what_ to me?"

In response, Rin nudged the dictionary toward him.

His slow search was an act of protest. He turned the pages one at a time, carefully smoothing down one before lifting the next. Rin growled, his biceps twitching in impatience, as Haru fit in the missing pieces.

But then Haru froze; his heart beating furiously as he pressed down on the dictionary, trying to steady his shaking hand. "I'm not writing that down."

"Good." Rin slid over, so close that his words fluttered Haru's hair. "That means you got it right."

He felt Rin's hand pressed to his beating heart as if it, too, were a foreign entity, not something associated with him. Haru's mind was cluttered with English words and nonsensical phrases. It was a stupid language—the letters didn't make sense; everything was backward. Rin's fingers slid between the buttons of his shirt, popping them open one at a time. The hand fell down to his hip, concealed beneath his shirt.

Haru's gaze flicked from the arm across his stomach to the untranslated phrase on the table—its truth only written in their minds—then slipped his hands around Rin's waist and beneath the hem of his shirt. Haru was unsurprised when his own shirt slid down, bunching at the waist, because to remove it meant he'd have to let go, and if he let go he doubted he could return to this place again.

"Tell me what happened in Australia," Haru whispered, and Rin clutched the bunched fabric at his back. Rin's accelerated pulse matched the one pounding in his own veins.

"You _know_ what happened."

"I want _you_ to tell me."

Rin clutched him harder; Haru linked his legs around his hips to rest his chin on his shoulder, listening to the story he already knew. Rin barely spoke above a whisper, the words hot and harsh against Haru's ear. It was better that way. If he didn't raise his voice, it could be their secret. It felt different, hearing it from Rin. When his voice caught in his throat Haru pressed a hand to the small of his back, as if to steady him. Rin's body tensed as he spoke of his failure, spilling five years of anger and hurt and fear. When he went quiet Haru kissed his jaw, right below the ear, the only place he could comfortably reach from his angle. Rin wilted, his hands falling to his sides.

"Do not let go," Haru said in broken English.

"Your accent sucks," Rin replied in Japanese, leaning back to stare at him. But then he looked down in surprise, as if noticing Haru's legs around him for the first time. "So you intend to do your homework, eh?"

Haru grabbed his face and kissed him. Rin muffled in protest, unprepared, but his hands were already working to pull off Haru's shirt. Haru let go only briefly to slip out of his sleeves but their lips remained pressed together, each tasting of salt and chlorine, each unsure whether it was the other's taste or his own. Haru pulled Rin's shirt off his back and Rin gasped for air when they broke apart, breathing in deep before going under again.

Haru was shoved backward, digging his nails into Rin's back as he slammed to the floor, gulping for air as he was pinned down, sharp teeth grazing his neck. Haru tried to speak his name, but it came out a hoarse whisper.

"What is it?" Rin's breath was damp against his throat, but Haru was lost for words. He stared down the length of his back at his own fingers playing at Rin's belt. When he sighed, Rin kissed his shoulder. Haru tangled his fingers in his hair; it was surprisingly soft, and slightly damp. He pressed his face to the top of Rin's head, breathing in the chlorinated fragrance.

"Is that all it takes?" He felt the vibration of Rin's laugh through his skin. "How about next time I tutor you at the pool?"

With a jolt Haru was up on his elbows and Rin grunted, his forehead colliding with Haru's shoulder. He squinted at the clock. "_Damn it_. I'm late for practice. This is your fault."

"What . . . ?! It's your fault you suck at English!"

Haru rolled out from under him and went to grab his shirt, but Rin had already snatched it. He frowned. "Rin, I have to go."

"C'mere." He sat up and tossed the shirt around Haru's shoulders, pulling his arms through the sleeves. Haru watched as Rin slowly fastened the buttons from the bottom up, leaving the top undone, and smoothing down the collar. Haru had to look away, but only found himself staring at his homework with Rin's scrawl all over it.

"I'll have to rewrite that," he said, jerking away from lingering hands to neaten the mess of paper.

Rin shrugged, grabbing his shirt and jacket as he stood. Haru refused to watch as he pulled his clothes on. "Yeah, well, call if you need me again, I guess." He threw his schoolbag over his shoulder; the Japanese/English dictionary still lay open on the table as he strode to the door.

"Rin, wait." He paused, glancing over his shoulder as Haru jogged up to him. Haru felt the heat off Rin's back when he reached for him, setting an unsteady hand on his hip. "Come by afterward. To the pool."

"Hmph. You still want to swim with me?"

"Yes."

Rin jerked his head away but the tension in his shoulders eased; Haru kissed the back of his neck, lips lingering against the salty skin.

"You're late for practice, Haru."


End file.
